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by Zapwing
Summary: Master Cyclonis realizes that there could be an even more dangerous threat to the Atmos...probably more dangerous than herself...SURPRISE PAIRING INSIDE.  Reviewers will be awarded with free muffins!
1. Prologue

**Avatar **

**By Zapwing**

**Prologue**

"_Effendi!_"

_Ta! Tap! Tap!_

"_Effendi! _Open door now!_"_

Professor Friedman opened his bleary eyes, and moaned sleepily. He glanced at the small clock at his bedside, and noted, with irritation, that it was four in the morning. Meanwhile, the racket continued outside. "Alright, alright, I'm coming…," groaned the man, as he got up from his rickety cot, crossed the small room, and unlocked the sheet metal door. It opened with an audible squeak, revealing the brown clad boy, with an expression of anxiety on his face. He held a lantern, powered by a small crystal, making the beads of sweat on his forehead shine. The professor yawned and gave the native an annoyed look.

"What in the Atmos is going on Pacha! It's the middle of the night!"

"The other _Effendi _waiting for you at site, _Effendi_! He says to me to tell you that the digging truck finds something in the ground! _Effendi_ says to come quickly!"

Friedman's annoyance disappeared completely. It looked like the weeks of aimless excavating had finally paid off. He darted back into his room, and grabbed his jacket. He pulled it over his shoulders as he told Pacha; "Alright, boy, lead the way…"

The professor had arrived here along with several colleagues over a year ago. They'd been digging ever since, hoping fervently that they would finally get their hands on the artifact. Their sponsor, Nimbus Innovations, a technological company, had been getting anxious, as he had provided the funding for this operation. Tensions had run high, and the professor's colleagues had almost been at blows…but they'd forget all of that when they exhumed the object.

The dig site, a huge dirt crater, stuffed with spotlights, scaffolds, and the jutting ruins of the temple, became visible after a few seconds. The noise of men, and the blaring drone of generators and machinery, had overwhelmed him at first, but over time, he'd gotten used to it.

Eric was near the crater, frantically scribbling notes. Sweat was pouring down his neck, thanks to the heat given off by the generators, but he hardly noticed. "Is it what I think it is?" queried Friedman, as he came to stand beside Eric. The young man grinned, and nodded earnestly. "I believe it is, sir. I think all those months are finally paying off." Friedman laughed and clasped Eric's shoulders. After all this time, of waiting and false alarms, they'd done it! Friedman and his team would finally show those snobs at the Museum, and the Institute!

"How soon, until we can get it out of there?" asked Friedman.

"I'm thinking maybe half an hour, sir, and if-"

But, he was cut short, when he noticed something over Friedman's shoulder. The professor turned around to see a smiling gentleman in a smart suit, hands clasped behind his back. He had sandy blonde hair, cut in a military crew cut, and a hard set face. Behind him was a tall man, in full combat armor, his face concealed by a helmet and gas mask. A long dark leather coat flapped behind him. For some reason, this man unnerved Friedman…

"What in the…," muttered Friedman, amazed. The man was their sponsor, the Chairman of Nimbus Innovations, Mister Eliot Johnson.

Friedman remembered Johnson. When Friedman had proposed the excavation, he had been spurned by the Institute, deeming the whole thing superstitious nonsense. Friedman had just been about to give up, when he had been approached by Johnson. After a few dinners, they had become close friends, and a year ago, Johnson was funding their dig. To see him here was wholly unexpected…

"Mr. Johnson! If I'd known you were coming, I would have gotten a meal ready!"

"No please, don't trouble yourself, my friend!" said Johnson, laughing, "I was just passing by, and thought I'd drop in!"

"You couldn't have timed it better! Sir, I think we may have found it!"

"Of course you did, my friend," said Johnson, as he shook Friedman's hand and walked past a confused Eric. Friedman was slightly concerned about the statement; he'd been expecting a more jovial response…

The professor followed Johnson into the crater. Johnson took in everything, examining the site with interest. "It's amazing," continued Friedman, Eric following closely behind, "I think this discovery could change the way we look at everything history taught us! Text books will have to be rewritten…"

"Yes, your enthusiasm is most admirable, professor," said Johnson, "But I'm afraid I have to take over from here."

Friedman stopped in his tracks, mouth agape. "What do you mean?"

"What I'm trying to say, is that me and my men are taking control of this discovery."

Friedman and Eric looked at each other, and then back at Johnson. "You can't do that," said Friedman, "You simply can't!"

"We've been here for over a year!" exclaimed Eric "We're simply not going to hand our hard work just like that!"

Johnson smiled a friendly smile. His eyes flicked over Friedman's shoulder. "Do it," he said.

Before Friedman could react, a blade tore through Eric's back and out of his rib cage. Friedman looked on in shock, as the armored man in the gas mask sheathed the serrated knife. The workers around them suddenly shrieked, and flopped to the ground, gaping wounds in their necks and backs. Eric stared at the hole in his chest for a split second, before he fell to the ground with a thud. Friedman watched in horror as more masked men turned off their invisibility shields, wiping all manner of sharp instruments of blood. They wore the same gear as the first, but with no cloak, and they carried crystal weapons in harnesses on their backs. They looked sub human, frightening.

The professor swallowed his throat dry. With his heart hammering faster than it should be, he turned to Johnson.

"My God, man, what are-"

He never finished his sentence, before Johnson's revolver fired, and a bullet tore through the professor's skull. The shot reverberated through the crater, and into the winds. Johnson watched as Friedman's corpse fell. He clicked his tongue, and holstered his revolver. "I'm terribly sorry my friend…but I'm also grateful. Too bad you had to get caught up in all this…"

He adjusted his suit, and said to the cloaked soldier; "Get my equipment ready. We start in the morning."

The man nodded in consent, as Johnson walked by. Idly, the Chairman looked up at the starry sky. Friedman had been right about one thing...history would definitely change...

He left the crater, and clambered into his private air carrier, a white model, with the company logo stamped on the side. The pilot shut the doors, activated the thrusters, and lifted off. Soon, the craft was lost in the night sky, the only sounds; the wind, and the rustle of leaves of a nearby hydrangea bush.

Deep in its branches and foliage, Pacha had watched the massacre, eyes wide, and shivering...


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

Cyclonis shot a glance at the timepiece beside her, and turned her attention to the sheaf of documents and manifests strewn on her desk like leaves blown by a strong wind. Cyclonis was sitting in her private study, at the desk that faced the large narrow windows, so the morning sunshine would illuminate the mahogany workspace. She had woken early to complete the last in the line of this month's paperwork, so that she could get back to the labs as early as possible. As it was only seven in the morning, and she had woken at five, she was still in her pajamas and nightgown, and her hair was undone, the locks brushing her cheeks. She didn't harbor a liking for the endless signing of documents, preferring to utilize her time with the other scientists in the crystal weapons sector. In her opinion such tedious work should be carried out by a clerk rather than a scientist/ soldier/ empress, and it would probably be more efficient anyway.

There was a small creak, as the wooden double doors of the study were opened, and Cyclonis stiffened a bit. Pretending to rearrange a sheaf of paper, she stealthily gripped the handle of the crystal powered nine millimeter handgun she concealed in her shirt. Being born into nobility, she had learned long ago, that she was to expect any assassination attempt, even within the confines of the royal apartments. But, this morning, she had no worries. The strong smell of tea and toast wafted into her nose, and Cyclonis released her grip on the gun, rearranging the papers for real this time. The maid set down a silver tray laden with breakfast, and a glowing news crystal.

"Breakfast, milady," she said, as she poured a measure of tea and added a sugar cube.

Cyclonis nodded, with a weary sigh. "Thanks. You may go."

"Yes, milady." The maid bowed and left, making sure to shut the doors behind her. Cyclonis filed the last document and rubbed the back of her aching neck. The paperwork was finally done, and she was looking forward to spending the rest of the day at the lab. Idly she grabbed a slice of toast, and tapped the news crystal as she did so. A hologram buzzed over the stone, and an image of a newscaster flickered. Cyclonis sipped her tea, grateful for the warmth exhumed from the cup.

"…_and in other news, Nimbus Innovations' stock took a significant rise today…"_

Cyclonis yawned, preferring to ignore the financial news. She wanted political and military data, not some facts and figures spouted by some faceless corporate mongrel. She took another sip of tea, and chewed on some toast, hoping to wait out the dullness, and take a look on the weathercast. If she had time, she could try out that one maneuver she was aching to attempt, and anyway, that Switchblade needed some time outside…

"…_and now to one of our breaking stories. Authorities are now attempting to find the murderer of Professor Albert Friedman. Professor Friedman was found dead, in an alleyway on Terra Marv in what most police officers claim to be a mugging gone wrong. It has now become common knowledge that Professor Friedman was on a funded dig at an undisclosed Terra. What caused Professor Friedman to turn up on Terra Marv is currently unknown, and police have been unable to turn up any leads so far, although Professor Friedman's recent obsessive behavior may have been an important factor…"_

Cyclonis was still chewing as the news anchor droned on. After a second or two, she reached over and tapped the crystal off. She didn't know why, but something about the murder didn't ring true. Maybe it was her investigative instinct taking over…or maybe she was just being ridiculous. She finished off her toast and downed her cup of tea, before rising from her desk, and heading for the double doors.

* * *

><p>Piper wiped the sweat off her brow, and then put down the weights she had been lifting. Her arm muscles were developing well, and she could steadily perform some of those more complex moves with her staff. She had begun a strict exercise regimen recommended by her Sky Fu manual, and she was determined to follow it to the letter, even if she had to wake up in the early hours of the morning to do so, and even if she had to forsake sand cakes; Radarr had been somewhat concerned, but had been cheered to learn that Piper would still make them every Sunday, just for the little blue lemur.<p>

Piper tapped her music crystal off, as she passed her desk (a Nimbus Innovations model she was rather proud of), and opened her bedroom door. She headed into the kitchen, popped open the fridge and scooped up a carton of juice, downing about a quarter of it in a single gulp. Her tracksuit was slick with her sweat and she intended to have a nice warm shower, courtesy of the Condor's water boilers. Aerrow passed by, still in his pajamas, and still unshaven, holding an empty cup. "Morning Piper," he said, placing the cup in the sink and giving it a rinse, "Had a good workout?" Piper nodded, still occupied with the juice.

"Let me guess," said Aerrow, "97 push-ups, sit ups and weight lifts. Am I right?"

Piper grinned. "Yep, just a few days and I might make it to a hundred or more!"

She left the kitchen, hoping to grab a bowl of cereal, when she found a news crystal, turned on, and the news anchor speaking enthusiastically. Finn, Radarr and Junko weren't paying attention, being fixated on a game of Rumble (Radarr was winning much to his jubilation, Junko's confusion, and to Finn's consternation), and Stork was busty checking the dials and instruments on the Condor's control panels.

"…_and now to one of our breaking stories. Authorities are now attempting to find the murderer of Professor Albert Friedman. Professor Friedman was found dead, in an alleyway on Terra Marv in what most police officers claim to be a mugging gone wrong. It has now become common knowledge that Professor Friedman was on a funded dig at an undisclosed Terra. What caused Professor Friedman to turn up on Terra Marv is currently unknown, and police have been unable to turn up any leads so far, although Professor Friedman's recent obsessive behavior may have been an important factor…"_

Piper frowned, taking occasional sips. She didn't really watch the news for the murders, but this one was nagging at her…she didn't know why, but it seemed significant somehow…

"You're getting it too, aren't you?" said Stork, who had suddenly materialized next to her, "That feeling that something may not be right…"

Piper, who was now used to the Merb appearing out of nowhere, nodded, still fixated on the screen. "Yeah, I'm getting it too…or maybe I'm just getting jumpy…I don't know."

Stork shrugged, and turned back towards the instruments. "You know, it's at times like these, that I think I should've listened that one time, to what my mother was trying to say when you got these heebie-jeebies…"

"Why, what did she say?"

"I don't know; I wasn't listening at the time, remember?…"


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

_Damn the sun_, so thought Rinzler, looking out of their little cave, for any curious security guards.

The Nightcrawler's red eyes scanned the estate's windows, memorizing every detail of the guard's patrols and movements. The ground, first and second floor movements were clear to him, and he was now on the third. As the leader of the Nightcrawler hive, the Red-Eye, he had the most highly developed sense of smell, hearing and sight, traits females prized. Rinzler's talents had allowed him to rake in tens of females in his twenty year lifetime, which is quiet impressive, considering how young twenty is. Rinzler could now smell his fellow Crawlers, the grass and soil around their lakeside cave, the salty smell of skimmer fuel emanating from the mansion's garages, and the pungent aroma of humans; hair, flesh, cheap aftershave, shampoo, etc. He could see the heat signatures radiating from every living thing that possessed a set of lungs and a heartbeat; it appeared as a vivid red, and he could see farther than a regular person, by contracting his eye muscles and focusing on distant objects. He could hear the drone of insect wings, the quiet rustling of plants in the wind, and distant human voices.

Rinzler flexed his claws in anticipation. Even if his new armor could negate the effects of sunlight, he was still uncomfortable; he wanted to get this mission over with so he could get back to the cool dimness of the hive and grab a drink. Reflexively, at the thought of a cool beer, he licked his lips with his tongue. When fully extended to its seven foot length, it could harden and pierce its target to deliver a fatal dose of digestive acid, paralytic venom, or neurotoxin, depending on which gland he chose.

He and four other 'Crawlers were here to assassinate one Mr. Soren, a military scientist. Master Cyclonis suspected that this man was working on an experimental drug for the Sky Council's military, and Rinzler had been ordered to destroy this particular nuisance. The weaker the Council's soldiers were the better.

"He will be most vulnerable in the morning. The human body is not so focused then," said Cyclonis.

Rinzler had bristled at the thought of sunlight, but had relented. The pay was too good. And so, here he was, with four others, who were busy sharpening assorted blades and claws, ready for action.

A female, one of the four 'Crawlers, sidled up next to him, eyeing Rinzler's muscles, spines and claws. Sensing her presence, Rinzler hissed, heckles raised, and she withdrew, a hungry look in her eye. One of the advantages to being a Red-Eye was that too many females vied for his attention, as he possessed the best genes in the hive for their offspring (Nightcrawlers do not have any concept of marriage or family. All of them are single). At first he had allowed it, welcomed it even, and sired many larvae. But over time, the constant mating had bored him. Yes, the females were strong, deadly even. But they were all missing something; something Rinzler couldn't quiet put a claw on…

There was a sudden commotion nearby. Rinzler perked his ears, suddenly smelling a coppery scent in the air…

_Blood…_ he thought, as he frowned. A yelling sounded from inside the building, followed by the pulse of crystal radiation. Rinzler and the other 'Crawlers tensed, weapons primed. Nightcrawlers have a special organ at the base of their skull, called ampullae of Lorenzinii, a series of electroreceptors designed to detect electrical pulses, commonly found in sea creatures. In the case of Nightcrawlers, they had been adapted to detecting crystal radiation, and were four times more sensitive than the regular variant. Hours earlier, Rinzler had detected twenty engine crystals, several weapons grade Stryker crystals, and several others he couldn't identify. But now, he sensed a new weaponised crystal, something he hadn't detected before. Incendiary base, mostly, with some electrical…

He saw one of Soren's bodyguards rush across on window on the ground floor. He wore standard armor, crystal short sword at the ready, and he was frantically conversing on a radio. Rinzler followed his progress for a few windows more, before there was a flash of orange light. The guard gave a pained yell, and he crumpled to the ground. His armor plating was melted around the chest, the stench of smoldering flesh filling Rinzler's nose.

Another figure appeared at the window. Rinzler eyed it curiously. He was clad in black, with sections of his armor colored red. He wore a helmet complete with gas mask, and crimson visor. He looked downwards, as though inspecting the body of the hapless guard, before moving onwards. Rinzler's eyes never strayed from him until he was no longer visible from any windows. Rinzler hadn't seen his weapon.

There was more shouting, and an alarm had sounded. Rinzler heard more guards, and sensed their weapons as they drew them, only to be cut down in blazes of orange light, which streamed from the windows like a monochrome lightshow. Glass broke somewhere inside. A shout. A door, leading to the garden, was thrown open, and one of the red-and-black armored intruders stood in the doorway. Rinzler edged away a little just in case, and finally got a good look at their weaponry.

The source of the orange light and armor melting beams was a longish tube, not very thick, covered in small beveled cylinders and ending with in a conical muzzle. There were grips located midway on the underside of the tube and at the rear, just like a crossbow, and Rinzler sensed a crystal housed inside the device. The whole ensemble was painted to match the intruder's armor.

The black clad man looked left and right, shrugged, and retreated to the interior of the house. There were more yells, and Rinzler saw Mr. Soren himself, being dragged by two intruders, and being unceremoniously deposited on the ground. He looked to be in his fifties, his hair graying, and he was still in his nightgown and slippers. A roar filled the air, and Rinzler looked up. A grey carrier was making its way to the estate. It was unmarked, with no registration symbols. It touched down, softly before Soren, who was quivering like a Talon before an irate general. The gangway thudded to the ground, kicking up dust, and Rinzler observed quietly as a man descended, with casual steps. He wore the same armor as the rest, but it had been complemented by a long dark coat that almost touched the ground. The leader bent down to Soren, as if saying something to him.

Rinzler narrowed his eyes and strained his ears, hoping to pick out a few words with his advanced hearing. Nothing. Rinzler blinked, a little consternated, and he tried again. Still no words. They must be using some sort of muffler or jammer, but there were none that worked on Nightcrawlers! This was serious.

The cloaked intruder stood up after his brief conversation with the terrified Soren, and he dug into his jacket to reveal a small handgun. He cocked the weapon, chambering a round, leveled it to Soren's head, and fired.

Rinzler frowned, watching a bloodied piece of Soren's skull land a few feet away from the carrier. The urge to blow his cover to feed upon the cooked meat of Soren's guards hit him as the smell of their roasted bodies continued to filter in from the raided mansion. But Rinzler held his ground. As attractive as recently roasted flesh may be, he had a job to do, now that the assassination was botched. He gave a series of clicks to his teammates.

_Go back to the hive_, he said, _I have something to do._

_Affirmative, _said one of the males. He and the other male bounded off. The female lingered for a second, giving a look of want in Rinzler's direction, but soon, she was off too.

Their job done, the red and black soldiers dispersed, and the cloaked leader returned to his carrier. There was a revving of engines, and the carrier ascended and flew in a southerly direction. Rinzler followed it, once again, in vain trying to find any identifying marks, but failing.

The mansion was now silent. Rinzler waited a few more minutes, before making a run for the mansion. The entrance hall was a mess. The linoleum floor was blood spattered, and smoldering bodies were sprawled across the tiles or pieces of wrecked furniture. The Red-Eyes gaze turned towards the stairs, to the body of one of the black armored intruders. Miraculously, a crossbow bolt had embedded itself in the man's neck, a lucky shot. The intruder's strange weapon lay a few feet away, orange energy still crackling around the muzzle, and Rinzler picked up the instrument.

_Handles just like a crossbow; _he thought as he hefted it up and aimed along the scope. Master Cyclonis would be very interested indeed. He slung the device across his back, and continued up to the stairs.

It took a little bit of searching, but he had finally arrived at the study. Rinzler looked around, astounded at the assortment of moldy hunting trophies. In his opinion, a mounted animal head was a pointless waste of good meat. He crossed the once warm room, past the tall bookshelves and raided the desk, pocketing documents, bills, and correspondence; there could be details of his research for Cyclonis.

Rinzler eyed the room one last time, before punching the glass in a window, and jumping out. He fell about twenty feet before he landed, his bones more durable than a human's, and soon he ran pell-mell towards where his glider was parked.

So much for the assassination…


	4. Chapter 3

**SPECIAL NOTE: For the love of God, will someone review already!**

**-Zapwing.**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 3 <strong>

Stork remembered…

The Cyclonian invasion of Terra Merbia had been absolute. Talons marched the streets, their goggles daring anyone to resist, as shipments, livestock and crystals were carted away as part of their 'taxes'. A particularly tall Merb, too fearful to actually fight back, was being forced onto the street by two burly Talons. A man in a maroon suit strapped on gloves and checked the Merb's teeth, ears and muscles. Appearing satisfied, he nodded and the Talons locked the Merb's arms in heavy cuffs, before being forced into a van, with other Merbs. Stork would watch all this from his bedroom window, looking down to the grey street below.

He was only eight years old.

Stork had heard rumors…the Cyclonians would be building a huge factory at the southern end of the Terra, the first of many. The mood in the household was grim; if they didn't end up working there, they would be shipped off to a mine somewhere far away. If they didn't, they would work in the factory. It was a lose-lose situation.

Stork had been a very young Merb at the time, so he hadn't understood why everyone was moody. Point of fact, the only one who Stork could actually talk to, was Granny.

Granny was a kindly old Merb. Stork's earliest memory of her was of him sitting in her lap while she bounced him up and down. It was the happiest he had ever felt.

But more than that, Stork remembered that one night, a week after the Cyclonian occupation, when his Granny told him a story…

"Once upon a time," said Granny, "There was a giant."

Stork's eyes brightened and the soup in the wooden bowl got tastier, or at least less garlicky. Granny, who was intent on fattening up her grandson, sat across from him while he drank, entertaining him by spinning a yarn, an old wives' tale, a legend.

"He was the son of a human nobleman, who owned a good portion of land on this terra. And his name was Jusef Sardu. Master Sardu stood taller than any man or Merb in the village. He had to bow deeply to enter any door. But his great height, it was a burden. A disease of birth, not a blessing. The young man suffered. His muscles lacked the strength to support his long, heavy bones. At times, it was a struggle for him just to walk. He used a cane, a tall stick- taller than you- with a silver handle carved in the shape of a wolf's head, the family crest, and every time he walked, it would make a noise like this; _pick-pick-pick_!"

"Yes, Granny?" said Stork between spoonful.

"This was his lot in life, and it taught him humility, which is a rare thing indeed for a nobleman to possess. He had so much compassion- for the poor, for the sick. He was especially dear to the children, and his great deep pockets- the size of turnip sacks- bulged with trinkets and sweets. He had not much of a childhood himself, matching his father's height at the age of eight, and surpassing him at nine. His frailty and great size were a secret source of shame for his father. But Master Sardu truly was a gentle giant, and much beloved by his people."

She nodded at Stork, reminding him to take another spoonful. He chewed a boiled red beet, jokingly named a 'baby heart', because of its shape, its color, and its capillary-like strings. "Yes Granny?"

"He was also a lover of the nature, and had no interest in the brutality of the hunt. But as a nobleman of rank and status, his father and uncles prevailed upon him to accompany them on a six week expedition to a distant terra, very far from here."

"The Sardu family, they did not go there to hunt wild boar or deer, but the wolf, their family crest, the arms of the house of Sardu. They were hunting a hunting animal. Sardu family lore wrote that eating the meat of a wolf gave men courage and strength, and Jusef's father believed it would cure his son's weak muscles."

"When they finally arrived, the woodlands felt alive around the young master. They could hear the wolves crying at night, and Sardu's father wanted one badly for his son, whose gigantism was a pox on the Sardu line. He wanted to cure the house of Sardu of this curse, and marry off his son and produce many healthy heirs."

"And so it was that his father, off tracking a wolf, was the first to become separated from the others, just before nightfall on the second evening. The rest waited for him all night, and spread out to search for him after sunrise. And so it was that one of Jusef's cousins failed to return that evening, and so on, and so on, until the only one left, was Jusef, the boy giant. The next day, he set out, and in an area previously searched, he discovered the body of his father and all his cousins and uncles, laid out at the entrance to an underground cave."

"Master Sardu carried each body away from the cave and buried them deep, the work severely weakening him, and yet, he returned to the cave that night, to face what evil revealed itself after dark, to avenge his forebears, or die trying…"

Stork's mouth hung open. "And then?"

"No one truly knows. Back here, six weeks stretched to ten, and a search party was formed, which discovered nothing. Then, on the eleventh week, one night, a carrier arrived with heavily curtained windows, at the Sardu estate. It was the young master. He secluded himself inside the castle, inside a wing of empty bedrooms, and was rarely, if ever, seen again. At that time, only rumors followed him back. A few who claimed to have seen Sardu, insisted that he had returned possessed of great strength, matching his superhuman size. There was movement about the castle at night; hearth fires could be seen glowing in windows. But, over time, the Sardu estate fell into disrepair."

"But at night…some claimed to hear the giant walking about the village. Children especially passed around the tale of hearing the _pick-pick-pick_ of his walking stick, which Sardu no longer relied upon, but used to call them out of their beds for trinkets and treats."

Granny grew silent, as if in deep thought, and then said, "Then, Stork, some peasant children began to disappear, their bodies found days later. Out of fear, much of Sardu's village was eventually abandoned, and fell to decay. And trading caravans passing by the remains, would tell haunting tales of ghostly apparitions near the castle, of the baying of wolves, and demons. Of a giant who prowled the land like a god of the night. It was they who warned us,' Eat and grow strong, or Sardu will get you!' Come now! _Pick-pick-pick_! Scrape that bowl, Stork, or he will come!"

Needless to say, Stork scraped every last vegetable from his soup that night.

And now, many years later, in his mid-twenties, Stork was standing in the middle of a busy intersection at the street market, a crate of soda clutched in his arms. His eyes were fixed on the large news screen overhead. There was a camera view of a large manor, most of its doors and windows broken or destroyed, belonging to a man named Soren.

And Stork heard it now…

_Pick-pick-pick_

Like Sardu's walking stick, the boogeyman who punished children for not eating their soup. It was like his sixth sense, which rattled off like a fire alarm, and he was hearing it now, by just looking up at the newscast. Oh, something was very wrong today indeed…

"Hey, Stork, you okay?" said Finn, who had just arrived, holding several bags of potato crisps, and wearing a curious look on his face. Stork, who had been startled, jumped a little, but shook his head.

"I'm fine," he muttered, turning away.

Finn shrugged. "If you say so…"

_Pick-pick-pick…_


	5. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

_Let's see…Triple chocolate, or glazed…_

Dark Ace rubbed his chin, as he stood in front of a donut vending machine. Inside, several of the juicy confections were wrapped in plastic covers, and stood in neat little rows, beckoning to the hungry and overweight. Ace had been summoned to the Master's Citadel, a half hour prior, requesting his presence on an urgent matter. Of course, with the young girl being as busy as she was, he had been asked to wait. But Dark Ace was a man, and any man would get hungry waiting in the busy lobby.

_Screw it; sprinkled it is…_

He retrieved a denarius, pushed it into the slot, and hit the appropriate button. The machine whirred, its motors straining.

No donut.

Dark Ace frowned. He pushed the button again, and the machine groaned. Still nothing. He scowled and clouted the machine's side, hoping to dislodge the treat. His effort was in vain. With an obscene oath, he gave the vendor a kick, only receiving a stubbed toe, which was saying something, considering he was wearing protective dermal armor. Dark Ace snarled, and looked ready to cleave the machine in two with his chain-sword, when Rinzler pushed the lobby doors open, duffel bag over his shoulder, and spotted his friend's predicament.

With a sigh, the Red-Eye calmly walked over to the donut machine. Dark Ace stopped swearing, and watched curiously, as the Nightcrawler put his ear to the machine, as if listening. This continued for a second, until Rinzler rapped a random section of the back panel with his fist.

There was a beep, and the donut, a sprinkled one, of course, was singled out from its rack, and deposited in the opening.

Dark Ace stared.

"You should really tell me how you do that…"

Rinzler shrugged. He hefted the duffel bag, and made for the private executive elevator. Dark Ace followed, unwrapping the donut. "So, any idea what the Master has us summoned for?"

"I'll explain when we get to the audience chamber," muttered Rinzler. Dark Ace raised an eyebrow. "Is it about that botched operation I've been hearing about?"

Rinzler scowled under his hood. "First things first; it wasn't botched, alright? I wish people would stop saying that. And second, it wasn't a complete failure; I've got some interesting information."

"Which I'll assume is in the duffel bag," said Dark Ace, through mouthfuls of donut.

"Exactly..."

The elevator dinged, the doors whooshing open. Rinzler went in first, and Dark Ace followed, swallowing the donut whole. The doors closed, and a soft musical score played over the elevator's speakers. Dark Ace winced slightly; he didn't like elevator music.

"Well, don't leave me in suspense, what's in the bag?" he asked. Rinzler opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted when the ding sounded again, and a woman, clothed in mostly purple, and sporting a spiky hairstyle and haughty expression, sauntered into the elevator. "Good evening," she tittered, eyeing the two commanders arrogantly. Rinzler rolled his eyes. "Ravess," he said, grudgingly.

Dark Ace shared the Nightcrawler's sentiments. The both of them agreed that Ravess and Snipe, Cyclonis' suck ups, where the most conceited bastards in Cyclonia, possibly all of the Atmos. But they knew the truth; Cyclonis only kept the siblings around because they provided a distraction for the enemy with their elaborate and moronic schemes, even if they were a drain on resources. It was their stupidity and over perfectionism, that allowed strategic terras to escape assault from Atmosia. Once Cyclonis was done with them, she would discard them however she wished. But not Rinzler and Dark Ace; they were too valuable, probably the only ones who truly devoted themselves to the perpetuation of the Empire. As for Repton, well, he would just be dismissed.

"Did I interrupt something, gentlemen?" she asked, as insultingly as possible. Dark Ace and Rinzler shook their heads. Ravess shrugged.

The lift was now more than twenty floors, up, which meant that Cyclonia's corporate skyline came into view, its Gothic architecture thrusting arrogantly in the face of God, blinding the heavens with electrical lights, carrier engines and hologram shimmer. Most of it was red though…

"So," said Ravess, after a few minute's silence, "I've been hearing a few stories about our predacious friend, here."

Rinzler stiffened.

"From what I've heard, _little_ Rinzler, here, was on an assignment…"

The Red-Eyed Nightcrawler tightened his fists, at the emphasis on 'little'. Just because he was shorter, didn't mean anyone got away with pointing it out, especially when they were mocking him! His height had been responsible for his tougher years when he had just pupated, and the memories hadn't faded, even if he had ordered those morons from the school nest devoured…

"Oh, but wait! I just heard something went wrong. Am I right?" She leered at Rinzler, eyes glinting with pleasure of seeing the Nightcrawler's hackles raised.

"It wasn't a failure…"

"Oh, I'm sure it wasn't…" said Ravess, with mock encouragement, "But you never know; there's a first time for everything…"

The elevator stopped again, and Ravess stepped out. "Oh, well. Goodbye…and better luck next time, Rinzler…"

Rinzler opened his jaws, uncoiling his stinger tongue, ready to plunge it into Ravess' retreating spine. That was when Dark Ace stopped him with a hand at his shoulder. "Easy there, friend; best save that venom for later…"

Rinzler looked at Ace, and then at the oblivious Ravess, who was still within easy range. The elevator's doors closed. The music started again. Rinzler withdrew his tongue reluctantly. Even if he pretended that the mission was partly successful, the fact that he hadn't carried out the murder himself was wearing on him. He'd left his assignment half done…and Rinzler didn't like leaving things unfinished.

Dark Ace mentally sighed. As different as their species were, he had come to consider the young Nightcrawler his friend, partly because they were the most competent personnel in Cyclonis' chain of commanders, Repton being second most, of course. And now, after all these long years of trust and friendship, he could tell there was something gnawing on the Red Eyed Nightcrawler's mind. His spines lowered and rose, as if he was wrestling with something in his brain. Finally, Dark Ace came to a conclusion on his own...

"You," said Dark Ace, "Need a woman in your life."

Rinzler became rigid and stared at Dark Ace with a blank look. "No," he said. Dark Ace just smirked. Rinzler stared. "I don't need a female," said Rinzler, a tad forceful, this time.

"Somehow, I get the feeling you will."

"Shut up."

"Alright then, let's have a bet."

The Nighcrawler tightened up once more, at the word 'bet'. Rinzler smiled a sharp toothed smile. Nightcrawlers loved wagers. "Fine, let's hear it."

"If you get a girl, of any species…"

"Okay…"

"And of any age…"

"Okay,that's just sick!"

"Oh, alright, maybe around your age…how old are you?"

Rinzler shrugged. "Twenty. What else?"

"Alright, she's got to be around twenty. If you manage to find such a lady, you will owe me a hundred denarius."

Rinzler's smile grew wider. "And if you fail?"

Dark Ace shrugged, still smiling. "Whatever you want…"

Rinzler thought for a moment, and finally said: "If you lose this wager, you will be confined to the hive for a day, cleaning the larval chambers. A job which will easily pay for a hundred denarius."

_That doesn't sound so bad_, thought the man. Dark Ace held out his hand. "Deal," he said.

"Deal," grinned Rinzler, as he shook the soldier's hand.

The elevator dinged one final time. The doors opened. Back to business…


	6. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Cyclonis sighed; eyes squeezed shut, and rubbing the bridge of her nose. In front of her, a hapless Talon, in full armor, stood in the middle of her lab, leaning backwards, and arms raised defensively, a look of terror on his face. He was covered head to toe in a jagged black-purple stone like substance, which was slowly coming to pieces and falling off to reveal his charred bones. Cyclonis shook her head, trying to clear a buzzing in her cranium. It soon receded, but stayed as a dull throbbing. But it didn't go away. It never did. The jagged crystal she had been holding slipped out of her hands, and Cyclonis staggered and caught hold of the edge of her desk, a migraine hammering her skull. She gritted her teeth, fingers tightened, knuckles white. A cold sweat formed on her brow. The crystal clattered on the metal tiles, and the noise sent a wave of pain through her head.

A tingle went up Cyclonis' right arm. Her eyes shot open, and she raised her hand. Surgically implanted, just under the skin, on each of her fingertips and thumb, were tiny, red Praxis Crystals. There was a single one of these in her palm, which led a line of them that spiraled up her forearm, elbows, upper arm, right shoulder, and then down her spine. When they glowed, they gave of a light that appeared to emanate from her skin itself. These implants permitted her a greater level of collaboration with crystals, and even allowed her to sense their strengths and attributes as well. Without them she was nothing. And they were malfunctioning, sending a pins-and-needles effect across her skin. Cursing, she willed the Praxis to shut off, offering her some relief.

She'd been having this problem for some time now; an incessant whine invading her thoughts. At first she'd just attributed it to sleep deprivation, or exhaustion. But it kept coming back, despite how early she went to bed. In time, she'd given up, hoping it would leave on its own accord. It did not. Then, a few months ago, she began to have problems. Upon using an especially powerful crystal, usually with strength over Tessler Level 5, the noise would intensify. She'd never noticed it at first, but it became apparent later on. Sensing something serious, she visited her physicians, but they were unable to identify anything out of the ordinary. She'd then tried isolating the problem herself, but to no avail. The symptoms worsened, and with every Crystal she used, more suffering would follow, the mental humming turning into headaches. Soon, her Praxis began to feel the effects. Sometimes they wouldn't respond, or would cause her arm and fingers to ache horribly. Cyclonis had grown more and more anxious by the day. She ordered a surgical procedure to be performed on herself, overseen by several Talons, so as to find the problem and eliminate it. The surgeons reported that the Praxis were operating fine, and there were no flaws whatsoever. Needless to say, she obliterated every physician in the room, that day; such was her anger and frustration.

Cyclonis closed her eyes again, whispering a begging appeal to the Machine God, to help cure this madness. Despite her great discomfort, she carried on toiling in the laboratories, determined to stay strong. All the personnel in her palace could tell she was under some disease or illness, and certain, wily characters, like Ravess and Snipe, were vying for her position. Cyclonis would NOT let this sickness consume her, even if she had to kill someone along the way…

There was a squawk from the intercom on her desk.

"Milady, the Dark Ace and Red-Eye are here," said the guard.

Cyclonis rubbed her temples. "Send them in," she replied, curtly.

"Yes, milady, at once."

The doors opened, and Rinzler strode in, Dark Ace in tow. Rinzler passed the macabre statue of the Talon without a glance. Dark Ace slowed down, the better to see what punishment had been wrought upon the soldier. The Nightcrawler and the Talon commander; these were the two Cyclonis trusted most, her last line of defense. She nodded to them, and they nodded back. "What have you got to show me?"

Rinzler didn't answer straight away. Instead, he walked over to her desk, unzipped his duffel bag, and deposited the crystal weapon, its barrel still emitting an orange glow. Dark Ace stared at the armament, intrigued, trying to gauge its effectiveness. Cyclonis, on the other hand, suddenly looked shocked.

"An energy rifle!" she said, disbelief lacing her voice. She had a good reason; weapons grade crystals were incompatible with prisms and focusing arrays. Instead of producing a steady beam, they would destroy the metal casings of the weapon.

She shot a look at Rinzler. "Did you get a recording?"

"Absolutely," said the Nightcrawler, and he removed a set of goggles from his pocket. Cyclonis raised an eyebrow at Rinzler's sudden miffed tone. She looked at Dark Ace, and the commander shrugged.

Rinzler's claws twiddled a section of the metal frame, and he slid out a green crystal, pressed completely flat, and wafer thin, like a computer chip. He inserted the crystal into a small, square device, and hit the play button. A hologram materialized in the air. It showed a series of images from Rinzler's point of view, almost as if he had been carrying a camera in his eyes. The Nightcrawler fast forwarded the scene, until he found the sequence he was looking for. Dark Ace and Cyclonis saw what had happened at the mansion. Soren's private security hadn't stood a chance against high tech energy weapons; they were cut down like flies facing a swatter.

"They're organized," said Dark Ace, "These aren't just regular mercenaries." He leaned forward, taking a closer look at the hologram. He observed their tactics carefully, deciphering every move. "And they have military training. Unusual."

"Unusual or not, I need to know who they are," said Cyclonis, arms crossed. "Rinzler, did you find any documents?"

"Yes," said the Red-Eye, and he deposited everything he'd found. "Pilfered right out of Soren's desk."

Cyclonis skimmed through them. "I need to look at these in detail," she said. "Rinzler, I want you to get some information on these mercenaries. Go whenever you're ready."

"There's one more thing," said the Nightcrawler. He fast forwarded the hologram again. "See that tall one, wearing that coat? He's coming out of the carrier right now."

Dark Ace frowned at the image. The man on the hologram wore the same paraphernalia as the rest; armor, gas mask, red visor etc. The only addition was a long black coat that blew in the wind. Cyclonis and Dark Ace watched as he executed Soren.

"If you haven't guessed by now, he's their boss," said Rinzler. "And here's something else that might pique your interest; I couldn't eavesdrop on him."

"Excuse me?" said Cyclonis. She looked surprised. Dark Ace looked at Rinzler sharply.

"You heard me," said the Nightcrawler, "He had some sort of jammer on him, designed to work at a certain frequency maybe…"

"But that's not possible," muttered Cyclonis, "No one has figured that out yet…"

There was silence in the lab again. The two commanders stood, awaiting Cyclonis' orders. Cyclonis looked at the frozen image of the coated mercenary. She furrowed her brow, and turned the device off. The hologram winked out.

"You have your orders, Rinzler. Carry them out."

The Nightcrawler nodded. "At once," he said. And with that, he turned and walked out. Dark Ace sighed, hands in his pockets. "I think I'd better bolster security around all the terras while we're at it…"

"Good idea," muttered Cyclonis, as she looked at Soren's documents. "For all we know, their next target might be the Empire…"

Dark Ace bowed to Cyclonis, and made to leave.

"Dark Ace…"

Startled, the Talon commander turned. "Yes, Master?" The girl sighed, as she stared in the direction Rinzler had left. "Keep an eye on our Nightcrawler, Dark Ace. I feel that with his mission interrupted, he may feel that he has failed in some way." She looked at the Dark Ace, sternly. "Make sure he doesn't do anything rash."

Dark Ace nodded. "Yes, Master."

He turned and took his leave, the doors thudding behind him. The noise reawakened the humming in her head once more, causing a minor ripple of pain. It was like a permanent hangover. Cyclonis uttered an oath, and turned her attention back to Soren's documents. It was time for some analysis. She shut off most of her machinery, grabbed the energy gun, and left via a side door, heading to her study.

Behind her, the unfortunate Talon finally crumbled into crystalline debris and blackened bones…


	7. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

"Two murders in one day," muttered Piper, brow furrowed. She stared at the small article on Friedman's death, and then looked at the frozen news hologram of Soren's mansion. She hadn't thought much of Friedman's fate in the morning, brushing it off as a bout of paranoia. But now, with Soren dead, she had that nagging feeling again. Piper thought there was something very suspicious about these murders, but she couldn't tell why…

The Condor was in flight, Stork at the helm as usual. Their morning shopping spree had ended well, although Radarr had gotten into a quarrel with a rather aggressive rattle-back. They would have been at blows had Aerrow not removed him immediately.

The doors to the bridge whooshed open, and Aerrow entered, a book (_Inferno,_ by Dante Alighieri) under his arm. "Here you go, Piper," he said, as he placed the hardcover on the strategy table, "Thanks for letting me borrow this." Piper nodded, somewhat vaguely. "Yeah, thanks."

Aerrow paused, his eyes staring at Piper. She looked distant, her eyes fixated on the hologram, and newspaper. "Something the matter?"

Piper looked up. "Hmm? Oh, nothing, it's just…well it's these murders I've been hearing about…"

Aerrow sighed. He'd been hearing about them too, alright. First Friedman, then Soren; law enforcement couldn't find any leads. He'd heard of Soren's demise while he had been searching for a bottle of aftershave at the market. His soldier's sense had been buzzing at that point, but he had ignored it.

"Yeah, everyone's talking about it right now. What about 'em?"

"I don't know, but …it all seems rehearsed to me…like there was no coincidence. I mean two people dead, and both of them scientists?" said Piper, sitting down. Aerrow joined her, intrigued.

"So, you think they're connected?"

"Somehow, yes…but…I don't know…"

Aerrow sighed, helping himself to a cookie from the jar (they helped him think). "We could run a background check…find out some more clues…" he muttered. He frowned, as he chewed another cookie. "You think they were killed because they were working on something?"

Piper rubbed her chin, considering. "That's a very likely reason. Friedman was working on something with some external funding…and Soren was with the Sky Council on something secret…"

Aerrow smiled as he dusted the crumbs off his shirt. "Check it out?"

Piper nodded. "Definitely."

The door whooshed open once again. "Umm…I hate to be a buzz-kill, guys," said Finn, as he entered the bridge, with Radarr in tow, "But I can't find my shampoo." The two stared at him. Finn's hair definitely looked a little messier than usual. Piper rolled her eyes. "Storage bay, third box on the left," she said, turning back to the desk. Finn's eyes lit up in sudden enlightenment. "Oh yeah…," he mumbled as he departed. Radarr however, stayed behind, and within a second, the blue lemur leaped onto the cookie jar and began feasting.

"Easy Radarr!" scolded Piper, "You'll ruin your appetite."

Radarr just stuck out his tongue.

Junko entered this time. He carried several bags of groceries, courtesy of his Wallop's strength. "Hi, guys! It's your lucky day; I'll be cooking my Aunt's famous meat cleaver-leech-pie tonight!" He grinned and smacked his lips at the thought. Aerrow and Piper exchanged panicked looks, and Stork may have heard Junko too, because the Condor hit a sudden pocket of turbulence. The cookie fell out of Radarr's mouth.

"Uh, that won't be necessary, Junko," said Aerrow, his forehead slick with sweat. Piper nodded in agreement.

"Aerrow's right. We were gonna be ordering pizza tonight, anyway…"

Junko froze; his eyes wide, as if appraising a holy deity. "Pizza?" he asked, in a whisper, "With pineapples on it?"

"With pineapples on it," said Aerrow, glad this was working, "And cheese, and chilies, and mushrooms and peperoni…"

"Oh yes!" cheered Junko, his meat cleaver-leech-pie forgotten. And with that, the groceries were abandoned, and Junko raced from the room. Aerrow, Piper, and Radarr breathed a collective sigh of relief. Stork shivered, and said, "I've heard all sorts of horrible things that pie can do to you. First it's these horrible pimples, you see, and then you get these swellings…"

Piper rolled her eyes, and turned off the news hologram. Stork was still rambling; "…severe headaches, followed by projectile vomiting and anxiety, supplemented by thickening of the blood, and dehydration…" He trailed off when a blip flashed on the radar. Stork's eyes darted towards it, and slightly relaxed when he realized it wasn't a Cyclonian aircraft.

"Is that the radar, Stork?" asked Aerrow, coming to stand behind the pilot. "Yep, I think we'll get a visual, right about…now," said the Merb.

Stork was right. Appearing from the Condor's port side was a small, sleek air-yacht. It was painted white, with a chrome finish, and a manufacturer's emblem shone on its radiator, causing it to shine in Aerrow's eyes. The whole thing must have cost at least a hundred thousand widgets. The Sky Knight whistled. "Now that's what I call a limo," he said, "This guy must be _loaded._"

"He's sending a query to land. Should I let him?" asked Stork, gesturing to another light that winked on and off. Aerrow's interest was piqued. "Yeah, get this guy on board," he said "I'd like to hear what he wants from us."

"Alright, but be sure that he'll probably be carrying a dangerous strain of the thraxine virus," said Stork. One of his eyes twitched. Aerrow gave him a good natured smile. "Don't worry Stork; we'll be extra careful."

"Yeah, that's what they all say," mumbled Stork, as Aerrow marched off.

_Pick-pick-pick…_

* * *

><p>Aerrow strode onto the Condor's runway, as the yacht's hatch hissed open. A man with a shaven head, dressed in a dark suit, and sunglasses, stepped out, looking for the entire world, as a stereotypical bodyguard. After throwing a suspicious glance at Aerrow and appearing to be satisfied with the situation, he stood aside to let a well groomed gentleman to clamber out. He wore a very fine, dark grey business suit, though he wore no tie, and his collar was unbuttoned. His brown hair was whipped in the wind, and his grey eyes stabbed through his spectacles. He looked up at the Condor's helm, the sun glinting off his spectacles.<p>

"So this is where the magic happens…"

Aerrow recognized him immediately. "William Taggart?" he said, stunned. He was right to be. Taggart was none other than the CEO of L.I.M.B International, short for Liberty in Mind and Body, one of the Atmos' wealthiest medicinal and pharmaceutical companies, and slated to get a place among the Fortune 500. Seeing him here was as unlikely as seeing a Gorge Sloth practice common decency.

"Aerrow, I just got the bridge cleared and…" Piper stopped, eyes widened upon seeing Taggart. "Is-is that…?"

"The one and only," said Taggart, adjusting his jacket. He strode up to Aerrow and Piper, appraising them with a cold glance. "I hope my unannounced visit is of no inconvenience to you."

"Of course not," replied Aerrow, still reeling, "Is there anything we could help you with?"

"As a matter of fact, there is a situation I want to discuss with you…"

The three were now walking into the hanger, Taggart's bodyguard in tow. The metal bulkhead began to close behind them shrouding the area in darkness. In response, the overhead fluorescents flicked on.

"I trust that you've heard about those tragic deaths on the news?"

"Yeah, everyone's talking about it," said Piper, trying to keep in step with Taggart's long strides. "We were kind of thinking about looking into it ourselves."

"Then, I've come to the right people," said Taggart, "Those deaths may not be what they seem."

Aerrow stopped short. "Hold on a second, are you saying you know something these killings?"

"Yes, and we can talk more freely in your bridge." He turned towards his bodyguard. "Mike, can you stay here? What I have to discuss is private."

The man stiffened, for just a second, but finally nodded, somewhat reluctant. Taggart sighed. "I do apologize; he's not the chatty sort."

* * *

><p>The door opened, yet again, and Taggart took in the bridge. His eyes stopped short on the Merb, who had just exited the adjoining kitchen, sand-cakes in hand. Stork froze, eyes wide, and one of them twitching. "W-William Taggart?" he spluttered, "<em>The<em> William Taggart?"

Aerrow stepped up besides the confused CEO, and said, "It's okay, Stork, he's not gonna bite."

"Are you kidding me? This man," he jabbed a finger at him, "This man, is the pioneer on mind worm repellent technology!" The Merb dropped his sand-cakes, and produced a small helmet, from God-Knows-Where. "I hope I'm not too presumptuous, Mr. Taggart, but I've always wanted your autograph..."

Taggart smiled. "Of course, my friend. It's very rewarding to see that someone doesn't underestimate those abominable parasites!"

As he signed an eager puppy-eyed Stork's Mind Worm Helmet, Piper sighed and shook her head. "Unbelievable," she muttered. "I know," mumbled Aerrow. The fact that there were _two_ eccentrics on board was astounding. Especially when one of them happened to have multi-billion widget bank accounts, on over six Terras.

Aerrow coughed, and sounded an audible 'ahem'. Taggart noticed, and smiled apologetically. "Sorry, I get carried away sometimes," he said, "Now where was I? Ah, yes, the murders…"

The three took seats around the strategy table. Piper swept aside maps and diagrams, to make some room. "To begin with, I knew Soren and Friedman very well. We went to university together. I know what you're thinking: we became good friends and all that rubbish. Well, I'm afraid not; I despised the both of them."

Piper and Aerrow blinked. "Excuse me?" muttered Piper.

"We were rivals, young lady. Always trying to outdo each other. It was the both of them, together, against me. You should have seen us back then… So when I heard that both of my old enemies were dead, you can probably imagine that I was a little more than distressed. Yes, I wanted to humiliate them, but not have them wind up _dead_. I thought about this a little while, and decided to do some research."

"And what did you find?" asked Aerrow, as Piper scribbled notes into a notepad.

Taggart turned to Piper, and said, "Tell me young lady, do you know that paper which was published quite a while ago, the one about the so-called 'Breed'."

Piper looked up sharply, shocked. "Yeah, I remember that one. Personally, I think it's a load of crap!"

"Very eloquently put, my dear," muttered Taggart, "Well, that one was written by Friedman."

Piper dropped her pen. "He wrote _that_? Friedman, of all people?"

"Yes, I couldn't quite believe it myself; I thought one of my rivals was finally losing it. Anyway…"

"Wait, just a second, here," interjected Aerrow, "What's this 'Breed' thing I'm hearing about?"

Piper rolled her eyes. "It's nothing Aerrow, just some mumbo-jumbo about some archeological tablets that tells a story of some sort of cataclysm that happened in the past, caused by something called the 'Breed'…Just a load of hooey, basically, because there's been no evidence for it at all."

"Exactly", said Taggart, "But back to our situation. As I was saying, that article proved to be the prologue to Friedman's obsessive-compulsive behavior, as I'm sure you're all aware of. His career was slowly decaying, trying to pursue this mad dream, when he received some funding from an unknown source. I poked around a bit, and found that Soren didn't actually trust Friedman's sponsor. And then, after a few weeks, Friedman took off to some dig site, in the middle of who-knows-where."

"But, his body was found on Terra Marv, which means that somebody planted it there...Not a mugging gone wrong after all", concluded Aerrow, who was rubbing his chin in thought.

"And then Soren got killed this morning," said Piper, frowning.

"It was all falling into place for me as well. I was fortunate that neither Soren nor Friedman made any attempt to mention me when dealing with other colleagues. That was why I was able to make my way to Soren's home, and maybe appropriate his body for study."

"But, you didn't get it did you," said Piper.

"No, they had already been pulled out by the police, along with what I heard to be the body of one of the attackers."

"The body of his attacker, huh?" said Aerrow, "That could give us something useful…"

"Indeed," said Taggart, suddenly morose, "Except they've been shipped all the way to the police headquarters' morgue on Terra Jacinto."

"What!" exclaimed Piper, "Halfway across the quadrant!"

"In cold storage of course. I anonymously asked to see the bodies, but they refused, no matter how much I bribed them. I can only conclude that someone is offering more…"

"And that someone, doesn't want us to take a look at those bodies," muttered Aerrow. He stood up, and walked over to the Condor's steering mechanism, a plan formulating in his head. "Stork, warm up the engines. Piper set a course," he commanded, "We've got bodies to filch."

Stork, who had been, until now, lovingly stroking his autographed helmet, froze, eyes wide, at the thought of bringing rancid corpses on board his ship.

_Pick-pick-pick…_


End file.
